Unconditional
by QuickSpinner
Summary: Post DA:2 - It is inevitable that a half-elven child will carry no traits of its elven parent. Fenris contemplates the family he is building with Hawke, and the difficulties they face.


_Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read my story. As I thought about the future for Fenris and Hawke, I wondered how difficult it must be for an elven parent to know their child will be human. This fic is the result. I'm not totally satisfied with it, but it started to feel like it was going to turn into a monster, so I decided to quit while I was ahead. At any rate, if it makes the reader think, I'm satisfied. Please enjoy.  
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**UNCONDITONAL**

I'm glad the little girl came first. It was impossible not to love such a pretty little thing.

Holding her, I was terrified. So delicate, cradled there in my hands. Her head fit perfectly in my palm. I have held life in that hand more times than I care to think of, felt the beat of my enemies' hearts stutter and stop as I crushed the life from them, and it frightened me to think a careless moment might crush this new life just as easily.

There was no trace of me in that tiny, pure little creature. Her softly rounded ears, her small shock of blond hair, the clear blue eyes that later darkened to her mother's warm brown, the fair skin that tanned so easily in the sunlight. Precisely because she was so like her mother, I couldn't help loving her. That was a relief. I had smiled, planned, and anticipated along with Hawke, but in my secret heart I was afraid that when the time came, I wouldn't be able to see the child as my own.

Some of my fear was justified. The child was sweet, beautiful, affectionate, and I loved her, but still I felt apart from her. She is so unmistakably human - so unmistakably Hawke. We even named her Beth, after the little sister Hawke lost to the Blight.

One day we were sitting on the stoop of our little house, watching Beth play in the yard with the hound. Hawke sat close to me despite the warmth of the evening, which she felt even more than I as her belly grew once more.

"She has your smile," Hawke whispered to me.

"What?" I glanced at her. Hawke giggled.

"She does. Look." She raised her voice and waved. "Beth!"

The child looked up, and one corner of her mouth rose in a lopsided smile that was nothing like Hawke's broad grin. She waved back, and then turned and dove back onto the dog's back, promptly tumbling off on the other side, her dirty bare feet waving in the air.

After that I learned to look for the subtle things. Expressions, mannerisms, the inflections on her little-girl words. One day she dropped an egg and used a Tevinter swear word. Hawke was mad at me for days, but I couldn't help laughing. Little Beth came running to me, and I swung her up in my arms, protecting her from her mother's wrath. After that day I started teaching her the words for her favorite things, so that she could talk like Papa without making her mother angry.

It was easier when our son was born. I held him the day he came into this world and stood looking at him, as I had looked at Beth. He had more the look of Hawke's brother, Carver, than of Hawke herself, with darker hair, a sharper chin, and lighter eyes. I held him and I wondered what pieces of me he would choose to keep as he grew up. Beth was bouncing on her toes at my feet, anxious to get a look at her new baby brother. I sat down on the floor and, cradling my new son in one arm, gathered my little girl to me in the other. Beth counted his little fingers and toes, first in Common, then in Arcanum.

They are growing like little weeds now. I know hard questions are coming. We can't protect them forever. Already I can see little Beth's forehead crease when we go to the market and strangers treat us badly. Hawke is worried, too. I can see the anxiety in her eyes. I have no memory of growing up, no way of knowing what to expect, and she has tried to prepare me for what may come - the embarrassment, the rebellion, the awkwardness. It sounds...unpleasant, and it makes my heart ache to think of my sweet children turning their backs on me. Perhaps the day will come when the children are ashamed of their knife-eared father, when they beg me to stay home so they don't have to endure the stares, when they are afraid to let their friends to see the marks of slavery that nothing will erase from my skin.

There is also that nagging fear coiled in the pit of my stomach, one I'm afraid to share even with Hawke. Magic runs in both our lines, and it seems too much to hope that our children will remain free of the curse. They have shown no signs as yet, but I can't help thinking it is only a matter of time. The thought of my children tortured by demons, of losing them to the templars or, worse, to their own power, is nearly paralyzing. I already know I will not give them to the Circle. I would rather slay them with my own hand, mercifully and quickly, than subject them to the whims of mortal men who do not care for them as I do. But this is a battle I cannot fight for them. If they do carry the power, Hawke must teach them, as her father taught her, and I can do nothing but stand by, watch, and pray they do not lose themselves.

Yet, I am not entirely without hope. If they carry half of Hawke's strength of will, they will not fall. As for me, I can do nothing. The future must tend to itself. I will treat these days as precious gems, locked away inside my heart to guard against future need. When the dark days come, I will hold tight to these memories, to the tiny hands that slip into mine, the way their voices cry for Papa, Papa. I will hold tight to these days of innocence, when they loved me so unconditionally.


End file.
